


Looking Forward

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth being curious, Dimitri Week 2019, Dimitri having self-restraint bc he is very good, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, UST, and a bit clueless, and blunt, one-sided highkey pining, so yeah just UST all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Now, under her gentle but piercing stare, he feels as though hiding it wouldn’t matter. She’s seen the ugliest part of him more than once, and it wasn’t his scars.[Done for the prompt “Explore” for Dimitri Week 2019.]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 250





	Looking Forward

Dimitri’s drenched in sweat by the time his fatigue catches up with him, bringing his movements to a reluctant halt. He aches all over, but it’s still not enough. His mind is too awake, still buzzing with dozens of sleepless thoughts.

There’s a grim temptation to keep going until he collapses, but he pushes it aside and forces himself to relax. Now that he’s still, all his pains seem magnified: his palms burn and throb as he loosens his grip on the training lance, his throat is raw with panting, and the muscles in his arms and back will likely ache for a day. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s also satisfying, fulfilling in a way he can’t explain. 

He sucks in a deep breath of the sticky summer air and grimaces. It’s one of the hotter nights of late, which will make sleep even harder to come by than usual.

He runs a hand over his face and makes his way to the end of the training grounds, fumbling blindly along the bench for his shirt. He’s still wiping the stinging sweat from his eye with it when he realizes he isn’t alone.

On defensive reflex he clutches the lance and swivels on his heel, every sore muscle tight with alarm－and then they relax again just as quickly.

Byleth stands only a few feet away on the edge of the yard, one arm crossed over her stomach and her posture easy. She doesn’t react to his discovery, but holds his gaze as coolly and boldly as she always has.

For an instant Dimitri’s at a loss for words－that seems to be a recurring problem around her lately－but only for an instant. “I’m not surprised that you’re still able to sneak up on me.” He smiles, but there’s a shade of apology in it. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Even if he did notice her, he’s not sure he would have invited her to join him. He needed to let loose for a while and probably couldn’t have held back much in the mindset he was in.

She shakes her head gently. “I wasn’t trying to interrupt. But it’s pretty late, isn’t it?”

He takes the opportunity to look away by wiping the side of his neck. “I have a lot to think about. I don’t think I’ll sleep for a while.”

Byleth doesn’t reply. When Dimitri turns back to her, he notices that her eyes are on his bare chest now－not in a furtive glance, either, but an openly curious stare. He doesn’t need to look down to guess what’s caught her attention. Before he can decide whether to acknowledge it or ignore it, she speaks again.

“You have so many.”

Her tone is hard to read. She doesn’t sound surprised, merely matter-of-fact. There’s no revulsion or pity in it, either－perhaps a hint of something sad, or concerned, but he may have imagined it.

He regards her evenly. Years ago, he would have tugged his shirt back on then and there, embarrassed on behalf of propriety and unwilling to bother her with this part of himself.

Now, under her gentle but piercing stare, he feels as though hiding it wouldn’t matter. She’s seen the ugliest part of him more than once, and it wasn’t his scars.

Dropping his arms to his sides, Dimitri lets her look all she wants. He couldn’t begin to guess how many ghosts of old wounds still mark his body－some are large, most are small, ranging from nearly faded to the raw pink of those still healing. His arms have the most, but his back has the worst. Some, he barely felt in the frenzy of battle and bloodlust; others were misery beyond words, especially as they healed.

Byleth looks him over from his face down to his waist, her soft, neutral expression never changing.

The crunch of her boots on the sand is loud in the silence. She approaches until she’s at arm’s length, where her eyes return briefly to his. To his surprise, she slowly extends a hand and stops just short of touching his left wrist.

Again, she looks up at him.

_May I?_

Dimitri isn’t quite sure what she’s asking, or why, but he gives a short, firm nod all the same. Whatever she wants, he trusts her completely.

Even though he’s expecting it, the brush of her fingertips on his skin is a shock. It isn’t uncomfortable—on the contrary, her touch is pleasantly warm and respectfully light—but it feels alien. He hasn’t touched another person like this in years.

It takes him a moment to realize she’s tracing the shadow of a gash that stretches halfway up his forearm. From there she travels to the old arrow wound on his bicep, and then passes a dozen smaller marks on her way to the curve of his shoulder, where a jagged line is all that remains of a close encounter with an axe.

Her touch grazes his collarbone. It’s a surprisingly sensitive place and a chill breaks out over his hot skin. He stiffens to resist a shiver.

She sweeps her thumb over the deep scratch on his chin and he catches the pleasant, natural scent of her skin. He’s almost disappointed when her hand lowers again rather than moving further up his face, but it’s abruptly forgotten when her slender fingers trail slowly down the full length of his chest and stomach.

A sudden wave of warmth ripples through him, chasing away the chill. His breath hitches when her fingertips dip into the grooves of his abs. He wonders how it would feel if she used both hands to touch him, and more firmly than this.

He instantly banishes the thought with burning shame.

His pulse is pounding as hard as it was during his exercise.

Byleth still looks nothing but curious, and Dimitri can only hope he appears half as relaxed as she does. She runs her touch along a slash that starts over his ribs and tapers off near the center of his chest. At the end of it she hesitates, and then settles her palm directly over his heart.

She looks up at him, eyebrows knitted slightly before something like recognition smooths her features over again. Her lips part as if to ask a question and Dimitri’s eye immediately follows the movement, lingering even when she doesn’t speak.

His previous curiosity returns, now wanting to know if her mouth is as soft as it looks. As soon as he entertains that thought, several more slam into him and send a shock of heat down his spine and right back up again.

He wants to kiss her. It’s not the first time he’s had such a thought, but it’s the first time that it would be so easy to do so. He could take her face in his hands and tilt her head up and wait for a sign of recognition in her eyes, for the same desperate heat and want as his own, and then kiss her as gently as possible or hard and breathless or anything in between, whatever she wants.

He wants to hold her close and drink in her warmth and comforting scent, to experience everything about her and lose himself in her wonderfully maddening touch, just like he nearly loses himself in her eyes every time he looks into them now.

He wants so badly to return her curious touches—to feel her skin beneath his hands and learn its history, slowly and thoroughly, memorizing every detail until it’s all burned into his memory like her lovely smile.

He wants many things: her rare laugh in his ear, the weight of her hand on his arm, her calming presence beside him in a crowd, her warm praise, her gentle corrections. He wants to hold her and be held by her and tell her his every thought and dream and fear for her to reject or accept. He wants to be worthy of that same degree of trust in return and listen to every word she’ll give him.

He wants to look over and see her at his side, forever and always.

And if he can’t have that, he wants to _drown_ in her. Whether she’s his saving breath or the water that pulls him under doesn’t matter—she fulfills him either way.

Byleth’s hand withdraws. “I’m sorry,” she says with a puzzled frown, as though realizing or remembering something. “That probably wasn’t…”

His skin feels cold now. His voice is soft. “I don’t mind.”

Maybe something in his voice is more telling than he realizes. Byleth meets his gaze and holds it, the gentle rise and fall of her chest seeming to pause.

It would be easy to lift his hand to her cheek and stroke her skin. Easier still to slip a finger under her chin and guide his mouth to hers. He could stop just short and breathe his words over her lips—

_May I?_

—and leave his heart in her hands.

Except that _easy_ isn’t the same as _right_.

They still have an early morning waiting and a war to win.

Dimitri smiles his best as he looks away, but he’s sure there’s a hint of his restraint in it somewhere. “I still have a little left in me, if you’d like to spar for a bit.”

She breathes again. “Are you sure? You shouldn’t overdo it.”

He pulls his shirt on as he retrieves his lance from the bench. “Quite. I could use the cooldown.”

And she could probably use the distraction, he thinks, if she’s also wandering about this late.

Dimitri turns back to find her with her hand on her hilt, but she doesn’t draw yet. Her expression is thoughtful.

“Dimitri…” Her eyes flit down to his chest and back. “I’ll understand if you don’t, but if you ever want to talk about—” She pauses for a heartbeat. “—anything, I’ll listen.” The corners of her mouth edge toward a frown. “It’s… still hard to really grasp, but I’ve started to realize just how much I missed in the last few years.”

Just like that, her stares and her touches make much more sense.

He ignored the hurt and regret in her face before, when he was too fixated on vengeance to care about anything else. He assumed she was upset—rightfully so—over how distant and cruel he was, to her in particular. That was likely part of it, but now he doubts that it was so simple.

Perhaps his scars were a reminder of the time she lost. Perhaps, in Dimitri himself, she saw her guilt for not being there. It’s a way of thinking he can certainly understand.

It might be more complicated than that, even, he thinks. Or he might be misreading her entirely.

But judging by the vacant, solemn look in her eyes as she seems to stare straight through him, an expression he knows well, he doubts he’s far from the mark.

“When this war is over,” Dimitri proposes, “we should have a long talk, the two of us. You may ask me all you like then. There are some things I want to say, as well, but… I don’t believe now is the time.”

After all, it would be selfish of him to speak to her of _forever and always_ unless he knows for certain that he can offer it.

Until then, they still have the present—and so he’s all the happier when Byleth draws her blade with a content smile.

“Good,” she replies. “Now we have something to look forward to.”

As always, she knows just what to say. As focused as Dimitri has been on ending the violence and reorganizing politics and ultimately jumping from one mountain of responsibilities to the next, the idea of having something smaller, simpler, and more personal waiting for him in the future is a comforting one.

He nods lightly, sharing her expression.

“Indeed we do.”


End file.
